Still Hot, Still Broke, Still Pretending We’ve Got Time (Revisionist Shakespeare – Sonnet 1 for Gen X)

From good-looking people, we expect good-looking kids,
so the whole damn show keeps rolling after we’re gone.
But when the hottest among us checks out someday,
at least there’s a version 2.0 left carrying the torch.

But you—totally obsessed with your own damn reflection,
feeding your ego like it’s bottomless at happy hour,
you burn your own fuel just to keep your image glowing,
starting emotional dumpster fires where there should be abundance.

You, fresh as the first killer bloom of spring,
all wrapped up in your own potential and swagger,
bury your gifts inside yourself like buried cash,
sweet as hell, but cheap with it—hoarding what should breathe.

The world’s starving for something real, man,
and you’re acting like a selfish bastard with the last slice of pizza,
gobbling up what belongs to tomorrow too.

Either wake up and give something back before the credits roll,
or the grave’ll eat it all, and nobody gets the leftovers.